Alchemisland

In summary when it’s summery increase in street mummery

Jaysis de wedder has me sweatin’

Wear neither leather nor Aran sweater

Smoke coming off the roads like incense from Aaron’s censer

Love this city from me heart’s centre

Sure she’s a soul sucking dementor, full of demented madheads

Rentboy bagheads, popped collar mad ledges hunched over bank ledgers

Masonic hedge funds they are the recipient, expert bet hedgers and bed hoppers

Drink in coppers copping feels, pints of Kopparberg, won’t get caught ‘cause know coppers

Tip off about tax inspectors get it off loaded offshore on some feckless island

Grave pleasures in grams measured

Whipped it táim sa chistin so can afford pot to piss in

Dealing with, dealing whizz, wheeling dealing it what it is

Get a 46A have a smoke in the back

Party snacks, K and got smoke in the bag

No Leap card to tag, no driver no thank

When I slip out the side door, wank

Gesture at the passengers stuck on the bus corridor

Godric Gryffindor how many points I score

Point at the bag, say that’s a score

Sell a pipe to a whore up at the Point Depot

For sure she’ll have a sore ass

The DART passes overhead, I’m up near Busaras

Bus Eireann busses, passengers making a fuss of the Russian stuff

I’m pushing stuff

White as cushion fluff

I’m cutting up

Grams and getting grands

Grinding rails without skateboards these lads

Gladhanders with mono-swollen glands, handsy

Ant in pantsy with coke fancy, Bateman fantasy, fancies

Himself a charmer, couldn’t charm the lid off a Cobra

XS armlet, your fella is harmless, keep him on his harness or I’ll unveil hardness

Eden Quay smell of low flowing Liffey hits me

A gypsy tries to hit me but he’s too tipsy and tips over

In Gypsy Rose a biker’s missus lips me

I sell coke and these hoes wanna tip me

Grip me like a pistol, sustain the pleasure piston

Got more than pots to piss in, plant pots with weed in

More energy than fission feeds them, I’m gone fishing

For gee up Camden Street, craving sweet release

My trousers have a fashion crease, could have had a fashion career

Reckon I’m dashing, dunno whose party I’m crashing but it’s cracking

Craic is more than 90, he says not getting in with nikes 

Ask if he’s calling me a pikey, his mate comes up all spiky

Tell ‘em I’ll be back to knife ye

Happens nightly, let it slide off me

Drip in my throat like tá slaghdán orm

End of term so all the birds are out

Crime rampant, like Purge tonight

I’m Rampage Jackson fighting Wanderlei

For the last time, revenge’s chillest wine

Is sweet chin music

Started the day, it’s a Tuesday

With a few chill ones in Cusacks.